//------------------------------// // MMM vs MMMM // Story: Ponies Versus Starcraft // by ambion //------------------------------// Another story with marines - you know what that means. Cussin’! Yay! It was a most ordinary day as could be, provided ‘ordinary’ included a tiny research station built upon a hurtling asteroid, held on by the space construction equivalent of sticky notes. There was no atmosphere to speak of, and worse still - for the marines stationed there, at least - no booze of any kind. Even the hooch had run dry. Their powered armors had internal environment controls, provided you didn’t mind alternatively sweating like a pig and freezing like...well, like a pig. Such was the life inside the installation, and if it wasn’t comfortable, well, it was the only place life could have survived at all. After all, The sunward side of the hurtling rock sizzled at a temperature just shy of melting lead, and while the dark side wasn’t absolute zero, it certainly was absolute death. It was 3:27 - a.m. and p.m. had no relevance here - and the marine in red and blue armour rested, staring down into the floor. While the others lived it up with the sport, trade, and heritage of marines; bitching, fighting and bullshitting respectively, this one thought and contemplated. He did not say something like; ‘Do you ever wonder why we’re here?’ because these were marines he was with - and was technically one of, as well. The best answer one could hope for with them, the epitome of thought and philosphy might be ‘Uuh. No?’ or ‘It’s a damn rock with a bunch of computers, what’s there to wonder?’ or the favourited ‘what the fuck are you on about, boy?’ The marines weren’t alone, however. They were stationed with a detachment of marauders as well. The big, heavily armoured power suited soldiers were considered something of gentle giants, since only a slim majority of them were actually convicted felons. ...obviously only the heinous crimes counted. Obviously. The marauder core attracted a certain type of individual. If you could spell ‘marauder,’ it probably wasn’t for you. These guys did look at explosions, because they were usually the ones actively creating them. Sometimes even on purpose. The marauder armor utilized special micro-industrial launchers that combined all the joys of guns and grenades with none of the safety features of either. It was 3:27, still, and because even an unusually thoughtful, reasonable marine is still a marine, what he did say was this: “Fuck I’m hungry.” As per usual, the most appetizing part of rations was when the cardboard got mouldy - indeed, such cardboard was a staple to bustling illegal brewing operations of marines everywhere. As for the food...well, eating it was almost as bad as knowing what it actually was. Not even marauders were that stupid or brave. The others all muttered agreement. Nothing unifies so beautifully as mutual hatred for the higher ups. One of the large marauders shook the floor as he stood. “Damnit, I’m so hungry, I could eat a...a...a thing! A big, tasty thing!” “Just stop talkin’ about it you dumb bastards, alright? Don’t wanna think about food.” A minute passed in contemplative silence. “What do ya think is with all the computers behind the big doors?” a marine said A marauder rumbled in his deep voice. “I dunno, but I swear, like I swear I was there when the medivacs were still shifting all the eggheads off that side of the rock, and I could smell, like, baking.” Marines and marauders alike groaned. “What did we just say fucking say? Seriously? Asshole.” “No, no, I’m serious, like, if I was sayin this now, like, I’d be right up there with you, you know ‘Doh hoh hoh, you so stupid you’re hungry,’ but this was like, first day, yeah?” The red and blue marine coughed under his breath. “Gotta be something over there anyway, right? And there’s still the medivac on standby, right?” The idea hit them as one, because let’s face it, it took their combined brain power to conjure up the one idea, but still. The red and blue marine, something of a spokesman, presented the idea best he could to the pilots, eagre marines and marauders waiting on his every word. “You guys are full of shit, you know that?” the testy pilot barked in her clipped voice. “No we ain’t, cause we ain’t eaten enough of anything to be full of shit!” “Yeah! We ain't 'ad nothin' but maggoty bread for three stinkin' days! Unless you been holding out on us, flygirl?” The pilot smiled nervously as she was inflicted with the most heroically timed rumbly tummy ever. Each gurgle in the soldiers ears whispered one of us, one of us! It was all of a moment to load the medivac. The launch bay of the facility opened with dramatically appropriate slowness which was lost on the MMM’s entirely. They all bitched heartily. Then they were airborne, though it clearly wasn’t air, just saying... "Go faster.” “And slip out of this weak ass gravity field and drift off into the infinite darkness of the void? With you assholes? Yeah, right.” A sudden flash caught all their eyes, which was the number of heads multiplied by two, but subtracting several notable explosions and at least one bizarre incident involving a martini. Apparently shaken really was the better way to go. The pilot pulled out a telescope, an actual telescopic lens, and extended it. “Are you serious?” The pilot shrugged. “Budget cuts. You know how it is” “Are you fucking serious? “Keep at it, tough guy. See who’ll get his ass left behind next time.” The red and blue marine shoved between the squabbling pair, peering out the windshield. “Is that...a battlecruiser? Think the bastards finally came to relieve us?” “Is it...waving? What’s that, waving? Like a rope...or a tentacle!” The cramped hold erupted into calamity. A huge marauder wept wildly. “Oh no! No! It’s the Jackson’s Revenge!” “The what?! It’s turning towards us!” “The Michael Jackson’s Revenge!” The marauder wept inconsolably. “We’re all going to dance!” he cried woefully, “Don’t you mean we’re all going to die?” “No-o-ooo!” the marauder blubbered inanely, as if death was favourable. It was. The whole ship shuddered as the pilot slammed on the thrust. “You bunch of girls!” she shouted. “I am not getting taken by Ravers!” “Ravers!” the emotionally distraught marauder wailed. “Shut up! I’m bringing us into the secondary lab, fast and low!” she shouted through a crazed grin. “Big doors, right? We get those closed behind us, and you might just get to huddle away like the little bitches you are!” The Jacko’s Revenge was bearing down on them, in the dark corners of their minds the MMM crew could already hear the relentless music, defying all logic and echoing through the emptiness of space... As fast as the infested ship loomed before them, so too did the asteroid race back up to claim the medivac. “Grab on!” The pilot screamed. “Not to me, you stupid son of a-” Thunder and screaming metal had its way with them all, then silence. The pilot may or may not have been pleased to know that only the hugely armoured body of the rather pathetic marauder which had clung to her spared her from grievous injury or even more grievous death, but for the moment everyone was fine. Provided they didn’t get partied to death by ravers in the next few instants, that was. Half a tonne of twisted steel blocked the exit hatch, or did, until the burly marauder shoved it aside. The red and blue marine hopped out first, taking a semblance of command. “Inside the station, now!” The pilot fumbled - she still had an access key for the outer sections - and stale air whistled over them all as the blast doors opened. “Go, go!” he shouted, and in they went. Only the barely visible glow of emergency lighting and the headlights of their armours lit the way. “You think they followed us?” The red and blue marine lead the way.“If they did, then we gotta go further in, right to the centre. Security measures are tightest there.” To the left and right, complicated terminals blinked with patient lights. “Wait, wait! Hold up. I see something,” he called out. The marauder loomed, unintentionally, but still. “What’s that?” “It says, here...the MMMM is complete. Something about...bakery-” “I fucking told you!” “Whatever! In case you forgot we got Ravers on our asses?! Something about...essence of pink?” In a manner that defied all physics - or just a shoddy paint job - the red and blue marine blanched. He fell to the floor. He screamed at the ceiling. “You bastards! You stupid bastards! You confectionalized Pinkie Pie powers?!” You stupid bastards!” The others waited in terrible silence as the echoes died away. The console opposite, showing a network of blue chambers and corriders began displaying an alarming - and spreading - series of red lights. “What...what does that mean? What is MMMM?” With a voice as of resigned death, the leading marine spoke. “It means that at the heart of this installation, they have managed to replicate in perfect form a Marzipan Mascarpone Meringue...” he shivered,” Madness.” All hope, all life drained from his voice. “It has a tasty-osity reading over nine thousand.” “How much is that?” “The tasty-osity scale only goes to seven.” “Thousand?” “No. Just Seven. It is the most irresistible treat in existence.” On the map console, several breaches were converging on their position. In the silence, tummies rumbled. The marauder spoke slowly, as if the wrong words might ruin his moment. “I think...I wanna try some of that...before the ravers get us. Releasing Olfactory Sample of MMMM. To the last, they inhaled as one, breathing the breath creation. It wasn’t just a stim, it was a stim to the very depths of their souls. “I am not dying before I get some of that!” “Smells. So. GOOD!” The flygirl roared with primal hunger. “How we gonna tear past these Raver sons of bitches?” she snarled. The red and blue marine, fallen furthest into despair, was now elevated highest on the heavenly wafted scent. But for all of it, he did not shout, or roar, or snarl with hungry energy. Oh no. His vision filling with MMMM, he merely grinned. Wolves flee from wolfish grins like his. “We beat them. At their own game.” The ravers might have been something...once, but the powers of infestpartyation had twisted them into wobbling, gyrating masses of pure party. The corridors echoed with the thundering beat...beat...beat it! Beat it! No one wants to be defeated! “Party time! Excellent!” The nearest of the beasts roared, and the others rallied to its eldritch call, shrieking ‘Woah woah woah woah woah!’ The MMM crew held their ground. “We challenge you. To a dance off! Music blew out the PA system of the station, but even then it only went higher, and louder, and deeper, because more than the tiny station, the entire Jacko’s Revenge was a retrofitted giant speaker system. And the Ravers danced. They DANCED, like there was no tomorrow, because that didn’t exist at all against the beat, because none of the tommorows would dance and if they won’t dance then their no friends of mine! The entire universe was their mosh pit, and the black holes of the deepest void staggered out of their way, whimpering. The emanations of pure party physically pushed the MMM crew back, down to their kneews. “This was a really bad idea!” the pilot screamed. “Remember! Remember the flavour!” Raw Determination filled her eyes and she sprung, cutting through the oppressive power of party, running through the seething, head banging ranks. “Follow her! Don’t let them grab you!” “Are they infectious?!” “No, they’re really good dancers! You won’t stop till you drop!” If the pilot was the slender droplet, finding a way through the impassible, the hefty marauders were the torrent in her frenzied wake, bulldozing a path. And then...then they were through, and there it was. The MMMM...In all it’s glory...and all it’s horror. One bite, one bite was all they took. One tiny, insignificant bite. It was so good. Too good. No brain could hope to hold that much flavour, it bled through their brains and their hearts, into their limbs. Each and all, the MMM crew started move. to dance. Tentacular-tastic grooves jived through them, and it drove them mad. Utterly mad. Raving mad. When the recovery dispatch crew arrived a week later, all they found was the trashed station, but no bodies. The trail of MMMM crumbs - decontaminated and destroyed under the most stringent of measures - ended at what was left of the starport bay, utterly ruined as if a battlecruiser had crashed head on into it, only to fly away afterwards. But that couldn’t possibly be the case... Special operative Octavia and very special operative Vinyl Scratch shuddered as they looked through the evidence before them, if for quite the opposite reasons. The white unicorn beamed a wide grin, one the gray mare had learned to dread. “No. No, Vinyl! Vinyl! You come back here right now!” The operative cut across the unicorn’s way. “This is madness!” “Madness? This...is...Marzipan Mascarpone Meringue Madness! And the greatest party in the sector has it!” she grabbed her marefriend close, peering deep into her eyes. “Tavi...you have to let me try. You just have to.” Octavia groaned, Vinyl hugged. The earth pony wheezed from the tightness of it. “I’m going to have to save you from this mess, aren’t I?” “Heh, ‘tavi, that’s what I keep you around for! Now come on, those Ravers could be anywhere in the sector by now.” The DJ hopped into their special ops wraith, flicking the necessary toggles to begin the launch preparations “Can you even see how bad of an idea this is?” Octavia said, taking her seat behind the unicorn. “Can’t be too bad if just a little bit of wub changed your mind. Let’s ditch this crowd.” Air hissed as the roof of their wraith sealed and pressurized. The engines glowed red and ready. “What is wub! You never did explain that to me.” She didn’t see the blush on the other mare. “It’s, you know...wub. You know?” Octavia’s response became a terrified scream as Vinyl slammed on the thrust. “Why do I let you drive?!” “It’s Wub! Wub!!”